


Love in the Time of Revolution

by orphan_account



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Political RPF - Latin America
Genre: Historical, Revolution, Revolutionaries In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I thought the war would make him forget - that he would be too absorbed in battle strategy and gunfire. Or maybe that the war had changed us too much. For me, Fidel the Comandante-en-Jefe was no less enticing than Fidel the young lawyer. But I could barely recognize the person I had been in Mexico - Ernesto was long gone, fully subsumed by Che.Comandante Che - I liked when Fidel said that.
Relationships: Fidel Castro/Ernesto "Che" Guevara
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Love in the Time of Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Che's POV.
> 
> Other characters who are mentioned: Alberto Granado - see "The Motorcycle Diaries." Camilo Cienfuegos and Ciro Redondo - leaders in Castro's Rebel Army.

_Si me quieres, aquí estoy, ¿qué más te puedo ofrecer?_ (If you want me, I am here - what more could I offer you?) - Victor Jara 

The air was thick and damp. A stray breeze drew ripples in the evening tide. Far away in the west, the sky was streaked with orange, violet, and magenta. The beach was solitary at this hour - the best time to think. I watched the great open expanse of ocean and remembered seeing it as if for the first time through Alberto’s eyes on that long-ago motorcycle trip. He’d watched the waves anxiously, his caramel-colored eyes reflecting another setting sun.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sad when I parted ways with Alberto. Our paths had diverged too greatly by that point to keep travelling together - we no longer saw the world through similar eyes. I had to go off fighting; he had to stay behind.

I’d never been too torn up about leaving people. Probably because I was always searching for a new horizon. For me, the world was not contained in friendship or romance, or _home_ , whatever that meant anymore. My home was the revolution. Everything I did was a stepping stone towards that goal.

I knew I’d have to leave Cuba eventually. And really, it shouldn’t have been so hard to think about that. But this time was different - because of Fidel.

_Fidel …_

Leaning against a solitary tree, I watched the sun slip down lower towards the horizon. I was surprised no one had found me yet - I half expected Raúl to burst in with some inopportune comment at any moment.

“Che?”

Fidel’s voice was close behind me. I turned to see him standing a few meters away, smiling.

”I didn’t even see you. How long were you there?”

He laughed. “Long enough to get tired of watching you staring at the sky.”

He was watching me? How was I supposed to take that?

Well … probably not _that_ way.

”I was just remembering our unfortunate experiment with boating.”

”Hey! That boat worked fine,” Fidel protested, smiling.

Oh, please. It was a miracle that we made it out of the harbor.”

“It was _not!_ ” 

Teasing Fidel about the _Granma_ expedition was always fun. And I think we both knew I was right.

But it also reminded me of the night before we left Mexico, which stayed in my mind like a burning light. Fidel seemed to have forgotten all about it. Maybe I was just a hopeless romantic after all … but there was no time for that in a revolution.

It was still hard to believe we had won, sometimes. The heady days of victory flowed together like a dream, with Fidel always by my side.

”Tell me, what were you thinking about?” he asked. “If it’s not too confidential.”

_Oh, I was just thinking about kissing you. Right now. On this deserted beach illuminated by the setting sun. Wouldn’t that be romantic?_

”Well …” My mind went blank. “Seriously. How long were you watching me?”

”You really want to know that, don’t you?” He smiled.

Fidel had a beautiful smile. It almost made me want to tell him everything. Almost.

“Okay, let’s sit down.” He settled in the grainy sand, leaning back against the tree. I perched on a root next to him and waited for him to say something. Anything. I didn’t think I could start a conversation, because my mind had given up on sentient thought and was just saying _Fidel Fidel Fidel Fidel_ on repeat.

Admittedly, I was a mess. Because we were alone. Together. With no enemy soldiers or guards or Rebel Army combatants anywhere around. Mexico City and the night before we left for Cuba were dancing in my mind.

I guess that dilapidated little boat was worth it.

Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time I’d fallen in love with a man. First there was Alberto Granado, when I spent most of our trip clinging to his back as he perilously navigated the motorbike. La Poderosa. Well, to be honest, that bike was broken for most of the trip - I guess I already had a thing for smart guys with no mechanical skills. Anyway, Alberto only had eyes for women, and it would be useless to kiss someone who would never love you in the same way. Like I said, I hadn’t regretted parting ways with him.

Then, after Mexico City, there was Camilo Cienfuegos and Ciro Redondo and a young recruit with green-grey eyes. But they only knew me as a devoted friend and comrade whose first loyalty was the Revolution.

Comandante Che.

I liked when Fidel said that.

“The sunset is beautiful,” he said now.

 _Like you._ “You want to know what I was thinking about? The ocean. It’s so … constant. Even when it changes, it’s still the same. Poetic, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t seem so enthralled with the ocean back in Mexico,” he said, lightly hitting my arm.

“I was not. For obvious reasons.”

“I think you told me I was crazy for thinking we could make it to Cuba. But it was a brave kind of crazy, and you liked that about me.”

Oh God. That was what I told him the night before we left.

So he didn’t forget.

He continued, “You said you’d never met someone like me before. That I was so confident even if I didn’t have a plan - yet. You said you would follow me anywhere. Remember that? I think the exact phrase was, ‘I love you, Fidel.’”

He rested his hand on my knee.

_Oh._

“Is that still true?” he asked.

_Oh my God._

My mind went blank. He leaned in closer to me, and his strong rough hand moved slowly up my thigh. Finally I said the most romantic thing I could think of, which was, “Well, you’re still overconfident and unprepared.”

Okay, this was why I usually shut up and let him do the talking.

He smirked. “And?”

“And … I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“How could I forget?” he asked softly.

I thought the war would make him forget - that he would be too absorbed in battle strategy and gunfire. Or maybe that the war had changed us too much. For me, Fidel the Comandante-en-Jefe was no less enticing than Fidel the young lawyer. But I could barely recognize the person I had been in Mexico - Ernesto was long gone, fully subsumed by Che.

Fidel was staring at me now, our faces inches apart. The years of war had made him even more handsome, and his eyes still burned with that unbridled passion. I could have looked into his eyes forever.

“It’s still true,” I told him, my voice low and hoarse.

His free hand brushed the back of my neck as he leaned in closer. And then he kissed me, and his lips were soft and his breath was smoky and I cupped my hands around his face as we pressed against each other. His hands were fiery, brushing against my jaw, sliding down to my waist and hips in a soft caress.

His eyes met mine, forming a question.

“Yes. Please,” I whispered.

And then I was on my back in the soft cool sand, and Fidel was everything, and everything was Fidel.

They say Cuba is a paradise. Maybe not every paradise is lost.

I don’t know why people believe in God when they can have heaven here on earth. 

Later, as I laced up my combat boots and wrapped my jacket around my shoulders in the cool night breeze, I allowed myself to think again. Fidel wrapped one arm around my shoulders, his body warm against mine, and ran his strong fingers through my wavy black hair.

I smiled crookedly. “Was that better than Mexico City?”

“Indeed.” 

I kissed him again, tracing the contours of his body in the darkness. This was everything I had allowed myself to imagine, and so much more.

No matter where I went, I would always have this.

Something to remember. Constant, like the ocean. 

~ The End ~


End file.
